


Mi amore vole fe

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Fuckbuddies, Humor, Lady GaGa - Freeform, M/M, NYC - Freeform, Paris (City), Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love needs faith.  And apparently a lot of sex along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mi amore vole fe

**Title:** Mi amore vole fe  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Love needs faith. And apparently a lot of sex along the way.

 

 

Chris is such a fucking slut.

Zach tells him so and Chris makes a sexy strangled sound, pulls Zach in closer with claws at his thigh and Zach knows he won't last long inside Chris when his dumbfoundingly gorgeous lips spill dirty words and his eyes flicker and roll and scrunch with a grunt at Zach's every thrust.

"Fuck, Zach. Just. You know, _nnn_ just more more more more _nnyesZach_ . . ." Gasps and arcs and Zach blinks against the tight heat of his body when he meets a thrust.

Chris says, low and amazing, "Fucking love your cock, Zach. Fucking obsessed with you fucking me, _ah_ good so good . . . _just_ —" God his voice is fucking unfair . . .

Zach's every muscle may be screaming in the background somewhere but that sweaty laborious summit of pleasure is within reach now—bites Chris's tense shoulder and licks sweat off his neck, sucks on his ear, smells his damp short hair and thrusts harder harder with hands and feet slipping.

"You're close," Chris tells him, growly, looking up at him with smug half-lidded eyes and panting.

And Zach's magnetized, crushes their mouths together and Chris feeds him a luscious moan, louder as Zach fucks him faster.

"Mm, yeah . . ."

Their foreheads glued together and Zach licks Chris's lips because they're there, breathes, "Touch yourself."

"Uuuh _shit_ . . ."

Zach seizes Chris's hand and sucks a finger into his mouth—Chris makes a broken sound—and repeats the motion on the rest of his fingers until Chris's eyes are nearly entirely dilated before putting them to work on his cock, big and begging between them.

Chris's so close now he can't even speak, just twists and tenses and moans continuously as Zach's quickening movements assist in Chris's efforts too and, fuck, so fucking tight . . .

Chris makes that choked sound he makes right before he comes so Zach grapples with his hair to force his head still, watches, encourages, "Yeah, come for me, fuck yes Chris fucking get yourself off, _God_ . . ."

Chris finds release, gone to the world with eyes shut and face contorted but Zach knows he'll—

Chris's eyes open with a long shuddering sigh and look right into him and he belongs to him in that moment.

Zach follows with a garbled translation of his name.

*

Zach get pretzels with Jesse just because it's a uniquely big city kind thing to do. The only time Zach remembers getting food from a vendor in Pittsburgh was on St. Patrick's Day, and that hadn't been a pretty sight. Not that he could remember much of it anyway.

Jesse gets mustard on his beard and Zach spends about a block and a half debating whether or not to point it out—the clashing color scheme is pretty pleasingly awful.

"And that's why I can't _tell_ him about it, you know?" Jesse is whining. " Hey, should we just cut across the lawn, or—?"

"You have a—here, hold on." Zach gets the mustard off with a fragment of napkin.

Jesse eyes him. "How long has that been . . . ?"

"But yeah, you probably shouldn't tell him whatever it is you were just gripping about for the past half-hour, because no one needs to listen to that, Jesse, seriously."

"You know, it's truly a wonder that Chris puts up with you."

"Well, usually I'm the one going all gay on his ass so I guess I'm just not used to getting—okay, maybe I should rephrase that: Chris isn't much of a talker or a sharer, macho repressed manly man that he is, so. And anyway we're just friends or whatever so it doesn't matter in the first place."

"So, wait . . . I'm confused—I thought you two were dating?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean, it's just a casual thing, not like, _dating_ dating."

"Uh _huh_." They take a moment to bite into their pretzels, cross a busy street. "So . . . you're friends with benefits?"

"No we've—" Sighs. "I just never sat down and labeled it and I don't wanna start now. And anyway isn't 'friends with benefits' more or less the definition of what any sexually involved couple is?"

Jesse giggles—truly giggles.

"Um?"

Waves it off. "Sorry, sorry. Remember on The View when Sherri called it 'friends with benefits sex'? And she said it just like that at least five times."

Zach regards him. "Oh, so you're _becoming_ a woman."

"Fuck off, Zach. You love The View and you know it."

"Sure."

Another block of wild wind between the tall buildings, teasing that winter's not had its final say. Jesse points out a busker with all the lofty delight of a middle-aged tourist.

"I dunno," Zach says. "They scare me."

" . . . Clarinets scare you?"

"No—I _meant_ , I'd be freaked out to be on The View. They come at you from all sides, armed with new questions and, like, _pouncing_."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "So, back to what's relevant: why _aren't_ you and Chris . . . ' _dating_ dating', as you say?"

Zach shrugs. "It's just what it is. It's not like it's some fucked up thing where we use each other for sex. We hang out and stuff. But we're not just doing the sex part out of convenience because we're friends or . . . okay, so, this is precisely why I despise labels."

"Well, I just—"

"No, whatever. I just get a certain way when I'm in an officially romantic relationship. Like, I worry about where it's going more than I actually enjoy it. And I don't want it to end that way with Chris, so . . ." I never want it to end with Chris. "I used to be like that, Jesse. Like, I used to be somebody who was looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't live without each other love. But it turns out that it gets kind of ridiculously inconvenient after awhile, I _don't_ prefer to be consumed, _and_ I can in fact live just fine all by myself."

"Whew, way to ruin one of the three inspirational things Carrie Bradshaw ever said in one fell swoop. But let me just point out that he's in this relationship, too. Chris is a person in this relationship."

Zach rolls his eyes.

"O- _ka_ -y. But I still think someone's gonna get hurt whether or not you've personally labeled yourselves."

"Yeah, well, you've had mustard on you since we left the square."

Zach tries not to think _We'll always have Paris_ , but sometimes it's hard not to. Sometimes he wants that 24-hour past life with Chris more than his real life. But he loves his life now, and it's pointless to reminisce.

Jesse wipes at his face. "Better?"

"You made it worse. Somehow."

*

Zach's gotten into the habit of walking in Central Park. It feels weird to be deprived of his allotted time to walk and reflect and enjoy nature, newly dogless as he was.

And really, in some ways he enjoys walks _more_ without Noah in tow, which makes him feel like a terrible parent, but it's true. No squirrels or sniffing to be wary of. And anyway the close proximity of the park—of everything really—makes it a shame _not_ to go.

It's always Zach's primary goal while walking to totally clear his mind, but Jesse's gotten under his skin, and he instead trudges on through bare-leafed trees and feels uncertain about himself. It's something he hasn't quite allowed himself to feel in a long time, and it's stupid that it's so tied up in Chris.

Chris didn't dictate Zach's life and Zach didn't own him and both could do with or without the other. Zach loved his company, even fully clothed, and he never had reason to feel anxious or overly meaningful about any it. But Jesse had planted a niggling seed of doubt and Zach was starting to resent him for that. Bastard.

The day's a little too advanced for the dedicated early morning runners but not matured enough for the crowd of slightly lazier people that pour into the park with the sunlight. There's a lovely warm breeze that he wishes smelled more like spring and Zach's hands are cold without gloves, but the clash of seasons feels satisfying too.

He used to never feel satisfied, always looking forward to the next thing that would make him successful, happy, whatever. There had never been that feeling of accomplishment, even after he had gotten out of the slump of rejections and started landing gigs, making friends, getting laid on a regular basis. Happiness with himself had sort of crept up on him, and he _hopes_ that it's not because he's reached certain goals, but for the moment he's just glad to feel satisfied at all. He's stopped being so disgusted with himself.

He lets impulse decide which path to take deeper into the woods.

*

Zach's phone buzzes.

"Hello?"

"Okay," Chris says. "I'm taking my pants off now."

"Woah hold on! Whatever happened to 'what are you wearing?'"

"Got old after the first thousand times you used it ironically. Anyway, I'm jerking off now."

And just like that Zach couldn't care less about etiquette. "What do you want," he asks, mouth dry.

Dark, breathless laugh over the phone. "Your mouth. Your _tongue_."

"And?"

"Like it when you tease me. Lick up and down and fake me out before you suck me for real. Like it when you ignore what I'm saying and just do whatever you want."

"I only do that 'cause I want to hear you talk. I swear I could get off just listening to your voice, Chris . . ."

"Well I certainly hope so, considering what we're . . . _ah_ . . ."

"Do it slower."

"So fucking hard, _nng_ , shit . . ."

"Tell me what you'd do if I was there."

"Kiss you," Chris gasps. "Taste my come in your mouth."

"You came in my mouth?"

"Obvs. Oh _fuck_ I am getting fucking close already . . . been thinking about this all fucking day . . ."

Zach thinks it's time to forego pants himself. "Did you touch yourself earlier?"

"No. Waited. For you. Mm, shit, you just tell me what you'd do—can't fucking talk."

Zach pulls his cock out and strokes tentatively. "Still teasing yourself?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Want more?"

" _Fuck_. Zach. Talk. Fuck me."

"Fuck you face down with your arms above your head. Bite the back of your neck and fuck you hard because you just came and you're so sensitive and you're fucking loud and that's so hot, you're so fucking hot, Chris, it's ridiculous."

"Ohgod. Ohgodohgod . . ."

"Harder. Fucking do it, Chris. Fucking come."

Chris lets loose a wild sound and Zach knows, flicks his wrist that certain way that always brings him to orgasm quick, says Chris's name under his breath and secretly.

"So," Chris says after a minute, breathy through the phone. "That was good."

"I . . . I. Good." Zach's nowhere near recovered, visions of post-coital Chris dancing in his head. Hates not being able to see him. "I'm still fucking salivating over you."

"Yeah . . ." Chris takes a minute to catch his breath with a deep inhale. "This isn't working. I need to see you."

"Ngk, I've got a show Friday, I've gotta—"

"No, now." Chris seems surprised at his own words. "Book a flight. No, I'll book you a flight. I'll Priceline negotiate that shit right the fuck now. I'm not even kidding."

"You don't have to—"

"Whatever. Whatever. Other people buy roses and pointless sentimental trinkets and shit. Meet in the middle?"

"You're so loopy after you get off, dude," Zach says, feels uncharacteristically affectionate in the wake of his own orgasm. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Sent. Check your email. And pack condoms."

"You're really serious about—oh, hey, the Shat just emailed me a confirmation number."

"And lube. Ciao!"

*

Zach spends the flight feeling like he's going somewhere business related, listens to his iPhone and plays Angry Birds like a dork and hopes nobody notices.

The view out the window is of nighttime until the descent to Chicago, and the city's like a spiderweb strewn with liquid gold. Zach can't tell in the dark what's land and what's Great Lake, gets anxious to check his texts and is for the first time truly thankful for a first-class ticket—he races off the plane practically before the doors unseal.

His phone keeps insisting on 'initializing . . .' and he's too busy glaring it into submission to notice—

"Zach."

Zach almost drops his phone, looks up and meets Chris's eyes and it's like a cymbal crash, loud and reverberating and shooing everyone else into obscurity. The whole world feels like a Monet with crisp, photographed Chris slapped onto it.

Chris laughs. He drags Zach into the nearest bathroom and Zach wastes no time pinning him against a tiled wall and leaning—

Chris shoves him back.

"Oh, so that's how you want—"

Chris's elbow meets Zach's side and Zach figures it out—someone exiting a stall, shit . . .

Chris pushes him out of sight of any innocent bystanders, kisses him a little, touches up his forearm. "Close call," Chris whispers, amused.

Zach blushes like a girl. "I'm—"

Chris laughs. "Come on." Ducks into a stall and draws Zach in with the look in his eyes alone.

The door shuts all the way from floor to ceiling, like it _always_ should, really.

"This why—mmf!"

Chris removes his hand. "Inside voices, Zachary," he chides.

Zach continues in a whisper: "This why you picked Midway instead of O'Hare?"

"I organize the most romantic dates, huh?" He presses into Zach, along with his hardening cock.

"So romantic," Zach agrees, captures his mouth and gets Chris's tongue almost immediately. "Mmm . . ."

"Sh," Chris says to his chin. Lets his mouth trail down Zach's neck. And down, and down.

"Oh . . ."

Another strong hand clamped over Zach's mouth. " _Sh_." He gets Zach's fly open with alarming efficiently, swallows Zach to the root for a minute, then lets Zach's cock loll in and out of his mouth, wet with saliva and tantalized by the stubble on Chris's cheek. Looks up at Zach with half lidded eyes bright blue like the scary-hot part of a blowtorch.

"Want you to, mm . . ." Sucks meaningfully on the head and flashes a grin. "Fuck me with this. Fucking _want_ you, Zach."

Zach can't argue with that.

*

Kristen visits, and Zach makes it his mission to introduce her to the wonders of Chipotle and _not_ dish about who's doing what/whom when why and how and what it means to everyone's career.

"They have this whole 'food with integrity' mission statement, and—"

"What, like, no lying to the food about its imminent demise and transformation into delicious ground beef?"

"Okay, number one: no. Number two? No, _ew_ , this isn't Taco Bell."

"Um, as the heiress to the Taco Bell fortune I find that deeply offensive . . ."

" _Food with integrity_ just means no exploitation of the farmers or alteration of the food. Like, they only use locally grown produce and shit."

"They get rice from Old McDonald's farm over in Alphabet City? And by 'Old McDonald' I mean actual McDonald's."

"Oh-my-God; you're ridiculous."

They order and eat in gluttonous silence for awhile. Zach picks up the conversation halfway through his burrito: "Just, they don't go around lying about their food because they use only natural ingredients and don't force anything or try to make it something it's not just because people expect a certain code of conduct. They don't _need_ to pull all those gimmicks other places do because they _are_ completely honest about everything and, I mean, why complicate a good thing that's working just fine, like, naturally?"

"Zach." Kristen says it like he's supposed to know what she's getting at.

"What?"

Waves him off. "Nothing. Never mind." She sips some not so organic diet coke, which Zach is sure she got just to annoy him. "Just. You realize how fucked up you are, right?"

"Because I eat organic? Psh, welcome to the 21st _Century_ . . .?"

"Oh, Zach," she sighs. " _So_ fucked up."

*

They slide into the limo and it feels instantly like a flashback. A keenly erotic matching set of flashbacks, in fact. Zach thinks about ruined tuxedos and swapped shirts and creatively used Burberry ties.

And Chris seems to be thinking along the same lines if that faint mischievous smile is any indication. Zach laughs, gets a cold/hot shiver and concentrates on the tinted scenery.

Chris's hand on his leg. Zach tries to breathe without sounding like the wind's just been knocked out of him.

Zach remembers the time when Chris was all in black and complained he was _hungry_ , dammit, and not just for pretentious hors d'oeuvres, which had Zach pointing out that he was both pretentious and a full meal, and then who knows how long until the driver noticed and rolled the dividing window up . . .

"Do you _really_ —?"

Chris licks his lips. "Oh, yes."

They make out for ages and Chris refuses to touch or be touched the whole time. Zach kisses his mouth and neck and ruts against him and they kiss and kiss like crazy people until they hit traffic, let everything slow like a metaphor and subside elegantly before they arrive at their destination.

Chris's kiss is sweet and lingering before they escape the limo, and it reminds Zach of:

_They'd meant to go to the Eiffel Tower, but things weren't turning out quite as planned._

_Halfway over the Atlantic they'd gotten their hands on a cheesy tour book—Karl's, left unwisely visible from his manpurse during his wimpy catnap—and spent the rest of the flight making elaborate plans to do and see it all since they'd both been to Paris plenty of times but never really been to Paris._

_"Wow, that's got a bite to it. Sure there isn't any alcohol in this stuff?" Chris sniffs his miniature scoop of ice cream on its miniature cone._

_"And now we're smelling ice cream in the middle of tourist central. I can only hope this shows up in the tabloids."_

_"Oh, please, Zachary—we're not famous. We're boring."_

_"So are you gonna give me mine any time soon, or . . . ?"_

_"Dude, I'm dealing with weird foreign change, hold on—hey!"_

_Zach snatches the cone from Chris's hand and it seems like a lot of touching for such a quick moment._

_"I'm hungry," Chris announces, not ten minutes after devouring the last of his ice cream._

_Zach sighs. " Well, there's a crêpe stand thing over there, but remember you've gotta finish it before we get to the Louvre."_

_"Hey, what's that, a Ferris wheel or something? Oh that's the whatsit from the book, isn't it? Oh my God I can't even remember the last time I went on a Ferris wheel . . . Hey, have you ever been to Magic Mountain? We should totally go after the tour!"_

_"O- kay, so, maybe additional sugar isn't the best idea for you right now, Chris . . ."_

_Chris squints at the price painted on the face of the crêpe stand, digs change out of his pockets. "Hey I need another copper one. Hey."_

_"Yeah, okay, which one?"_

_"That one. No. Yeah, Zach, just that one. Zach just give—there."_

_"You just raped my hand."_

_"Can't rape the willing—here, open up!" Chris holds out a gooey fragment of sugar + batter to him._

_"Worst combination of words ever—mmf. Mmm. Okay, that's pretty good."_

_"Duh. So." Chris take a minute to lick powdered sugar from his fingers and Zach takes a minute to not watch for too long. "Ferris wheel thing?"_

_"La Grande Roue."_

_"That's what I said. Come on!" Catches Zach's hand suddenly like it's normal and Zach looks from Chris's fingers twining persuasively with his to Chris's lit up face._

_Zach says, "The Louvre."_

_"It's not going anywhere."_

_"What about the itinerary? You're ruining the plan, here . . ."_

_Chris shrugs. "You know how plans are. The best laid ones gang agley pretty aftly. Yeah."_

_The Ferris wheel's farther away than it had looked, trick of its size, but the gardens are lovely and sunny and Chris still hasn't let go of his hand. Zach imagines that he's moving ever so slightly closer with every step._

_In the enclosed booth on the wheel Chris leans past Zach to get a better view of the city below, leans fragrantly near and makes Zach catch his breath._

_"This is awesome," Chris says, turns to Zach for agreement and makes their faces close._

_Zach takes opportunity to go completely blank, hopes his vague affirmative nod is the correct response._

_Back at the hotel Zach skips the cast's elaborate plans for club-hopping, armed as they were with terrible French pick-up lines and a totally not lame map of Paris dotted with big Sharpie'd points of interest._

_It isn't long until Chris knocks, asks, "You wanna do shots?"_

_They do shots. They move from the swanky parlor to the tiny wrought iron balcony to stare out at the lit up city, not quite high enough up to get the good view, but it's the teasing edge of something vast and full of life, and that in itself is exquisitely lovely._

_"It's nice," Zach is saying through a mild haze of alcohol. "It's nice not having to fake enthusiasm for the project, or the people, for that matter."_

_"You mean you're enthusiastic about me. Right? Hey." Chris is drunk._

_Zach's heart beats hard. Can't quite address it. "Um, sure. Why, do you secretly think I'm a douche?"_

_"Fuck no." Chris laughs, shaking his head and unbalancing a little. "If I told you how I really felt you'd laugh at me."_

_"I'm drunk. Whatever." Zach tries to laugh but it rings false in his ears. "Do your worst, I can take it." Please, please tell me._

_"You're like a book."_

_"I'm . . . flattered?"_

_"I wanna read you." Chris's whole demeanor goes hushed. "I wanna analyze you and not skip over the boring parts and . . . correct typos and wear you out and break you and get completely lost in you and read you over and over like a dork and fucking memorize you . . . I wanna—"_

_Zach kisses him._

*

The cold blue sky can only peek through the trees, no matter that they're still bare, and you'd think that the park was a place where things opened up and gave you a panoramic view, but that was reserved only for structured man-made things in New York. Los Angeles had its sunny hills and even Pittsburgh had that optimum view from Mount Washington, but New York was flat and clogged with things to block out even the surrounding water. No nature could stay here for long.

It was thoughtless times like these, away from sobering responsibilities and the emotions left in the wake of making art—times like now that it was hard not to manufacture intimacy with someone out of reach. It was a fantasy of believing that everything was perfect between them and it reigned only because a real interaction wasn't currently taking place.

His phone vibrates. Normally he wouldn't take a call during his walk but it's from Hayden, and they're in dire need of catching up.

They chat about career shit and make small talk for a couple of minutes, and it occurs to Zach that he really has nothing of substance to discuss with her. It's sad to realize she's probably just a friend of convenience.

He's doing little more than respond in the appropriate schmoozy professional way until:

"So do you and Chris keep in touch still? Chris Pine, I mean."

"Yeah . . . ?"

"Didn't you guys used to date?"

"Not really. I mean . . . we've hooked up." All of a sudden Zach regrets it, wants to say that they _did_ used to date or that they _still_ date or are getting gay married and moving to Napa with their three Pomeranian children.

"He's quite a catch . . ."

Zach stiffens at that, can't tell if she's trying to be helpful in a roundabout way or if she just wants a shot at Chris herself. Which is an irrational thing to think but Zach can't seem to shake the impulse.

"Yeah, I mean—"

"So is he between girls again, or . . . ?"

 _Fuck off_. "I dunno. We're not really that close."

"Ah. So—"

 _Seriously, go fuck the fucking Biebs or something or . . . okay, probably time to hang up now._ "Well, I've gotta go, Hayden. Have fun!"

*

He meets Jesse for falafel, just to ensure that no unhealthy street food remains untouched during their gossipy strolls through the city.

"So . . ." And Jesse honestly can't wrap his brain around this, can he? "You _aren't_ exclusive."

"I dunno, whatever, we don't _talk_ about stuff like that because we aren't _dating_ dating, which we've already established. We never sat down and said, hey let's be exclusive or, hey, I don't like it when you parade your fake, brainless girlfriends around and never talk about it ever . . . Jesse. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jesse laughs, smiley-concerned. "But . . . you _don't_ like it."

"Listen, no. _Listen_. We have it figured out by not figuring it out at all. It's perfect and I don't understand why everyone's trying to force me into not being happy now that I've finally found the right balance with a boyfri—not a, _you know_!"

"What do you mean 'everyone' . . . ?"

"No, listen. Jesse. It's like. I have to be myself—I'm done turning into somebody else for every new relationship. I'm not gonna go around pretending I'm head over heels and like settling down with whoever I'm currently with will fix my life or whatever. Not that there's much wrong with my life. Ugh. What I'm trying to say is that you should stop overanalyzing, 'cause I have, finally, and I'm finally in love with life instead of the guy I'm sleeping with."

Jesse seems to relent a little in the face of logic, or at least he's backing away in the face of all those words at once. "Fair enough."

*

"Est-ce que vous pouvez m'emmener à cette adresse . . . um, I mean, la Tour de Eiffel?"

The taxi driver laughs. "You do know that most Parisians speak English, sir?" He pulls out into narrow busy traffic.

Chris capers, bats his eyelashes like a girl and disturbingly effectively. "Oh, my! Where _are_ we off to next? What unforeseen surprise lies in store for me?"

"Go fuck yourself."

Chris lowers his voice. "Not when you're here and I don't have to." Foot twisting around Zach's leg. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"

Zach laughs. "You think Moulin Rouge is still relevant, huh?"

"Um, _always_? Duh."

"Winning. See how I'm more topical and it's pleasingly clever?"

"Yeah, well, I can _see_ Montmartre from here, so, let's talk about the relevance of that versus viral video coke addicts who have yet to burst into song . . ."

"You can't see it from here."

They get stuck in traffic for like and hour and Chris looks out the window, up at the tall buildings like a textbook tourist, shirt riding up, phone accidentally unlocked and glowing in his pocket. Zach shouldn't be entranced by this.

It's like waking up when they step out into the sunlight and the people and the world at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Chris sprints for the nearest porta-potty and Zach buys a little fake gold replica at a vendor on impulse in the meantime.

"Hey." Chris's voice, loud surround sound and sexy-low. Zach turns and catches his breath, thinks: _In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word._

Chris says, "I'm fucking starving, we should grab something to eat before we go up. Yeah?"

"Like a crêpe to tide you over or like sit-down food?" Chris's like a child when it comes to food, but over time it's gotten less annoying and more cute.

"No, _Zach_ , no concession stands. Come on. Paris, la ville de l'amour, non?"

And oh, Chris _knows_ Zach can't say no to that voice, let alone in French.

They have a fancy dinner on the Seine and watch the sun set, glistening in the water and painting the white bridges and monuments with fire.

"It's the city of lights, too," Zach says, later, in the elevator in the darkness up through legendary architecture.

Chris just observes, looks past iron lattice quietly.

"It's nicer without all the crowds," Zach says.

"We're here." Chris walks out onto the platform before him. He leans on the railing, bathed in gold from the lights on the tower and Zach feels like he's in a movie, walks in slo-mo to join him.

"Yeah. We finally made it."

Chris laughs. "It's kind of ridiculously gorgeous. No wonder this is such a romantic Mecca."

Zach digs the trinket that had been digging into him out of his pocket and sets it in front of Chris, feeling heavy-handed.

"That's . . . kind of ridiculously _tacky_ . . ." Chris picks up the little Eiffel Tower and studies it like an enthusiastic coin collector. "What's this for, anyway? Is this Zachary Quinto's version of flowers?"

Zach knows what he wants to say, experiences a mild panic attack and can't even move for a minute let alone speak and—

"Zach."

"We'll always have Paris," he blurts.

Chris looks at him, sees him.

"I . . . dunno."

Chris turns away again, a dramatically black and gold profile against the light polluted sky, all washed out with sepia.

"I love you, you know," Chris says quietly, tracing the miniature like it's fascinating to him. "I love you like . . . like I'm trying to stop myself from quoting Neruda for hours attempting to describe it and getting nowhere because I just love you, that's all. And nothing's fucked it up yet, and everything's had the chance to."

"I . . . you never talk like this. You're still a guy, right?"

Chris laughs. "Stop evading, man. I'm not going anywhere." He sounds so small.

Zach can only kiss him there above the city, above everything else, finds that he's had faith all along.

*


End file.
